Our Homefront
by DreamEscape16
Summary: They are soldiers carrying out their missions, survivors, and men out of time. After Steve finds Bucky Barnes in the shadows, he must sacrifice everything in order to free his best friend from HYDRA's control. He must fight for Bucky's freedom no matter the cost. Post- Winter Soldier.


**Our Homefront**

**All characters belong to Marvel**

**I own nothing**

* * *

**Part 1**

**Chasing His Ghost**

"What happened to you, Buck" Steve whispered, his breath scarce as he felt a sharp constriction in his chest—a dull ache of a shattered heart. He stood in the darkness, baseball cap pulled down slightly, shadowing over his deep blue eyes—the hazy golden and blue spectrum's of light from the projector reflected over his leather jacket.

He stared intently at the black and white footage for a moment before his eyes close and head narrows. The voice of the narrator hums in his ears, reminding him of a bond between two boys from Brooklyn that he thought would last forever.

The corners of his smooth, rigid lips altered into a frown; he stared misty eyed at the images of twenty-one year old, tough and earnest Bucky Barnes wearing a scuffed up shirt, dog tags gleaming in the dim afternoon light —he was happy, smiling with his charismatic, warm demeanor determined and tender steel-blue eyes bright as he turned his head and looked at Captain America smiling like an idiot next to him.

A faint smile graced over Steve's lips, he remembered that afternoon, and an American journalist took those images while he and Bucky were discussing plans for their next mission-German occupied compound near the north side of the mountain. They stopped and allowed the older man with thin framed glasses to capture a memory with them.

_"Sgt. Barnes, can you tell us more about Captain Rogers?"_

_"It depends," Bucky replied with a cocky grin, staring directly at Steve. "I can't reveal too much on this punk… Unless you want to see my sorry ass get beaten up by Spangles right here." He chuckled out a hollow breath; he looked at his best friend with a warm expression beaming over his scruffy face. "Steve Rogers is a skinny kid from Brooklyn who always had the fat Delaney boys on the ropes with a few bloody noses—he never gave up a fight. Yeah, um… That's pretty much all I'm saying to the American public." He laughed again, slicking his, groomed, rich brown hair back and off his broad forehead._

_"The both of you grew up together?" the reporter pressed out, holding his wired microphone inches from the two commandos._

_"Steve, as always, been my wing man," Bucky said, placing his hand firmly on Roger's broad shoulder. "He's like a little brother who always got himself into trouble—but he's always there watching your back…" He paused in his words, lowering his blue eyes down. "He's my blood brother and I'm with this blonde haired punk until the end of the line, right pal?"_

_Steve grinned widely, patting his lifelong friend on the shoulder. "Right, Buck."_

Steve mused at that memory in silence, before he lifted his sharp blue eyes—feeling the blood heat in his veins. His mobile phone rang, sighing out a sharp breath; he quickly pulled out the sleek device and touched the screen reading the text message.

_Hey, red and blue Popsicle—enough with the history books for the day. __You 'ré__ Spangle shorts are needed at Stark Tower. Our favorite sunshine boy who brings the thunder is back in town._

_Tony._

Steve sighed, removed his hat, and brushed back his sweaty, short golden locks. He gaped at the message for a few seconds and then quickly sent Tony a small text.

_I'll be there._

_Steve._

He eased the cap over his groomed golden locks; drawing out a shaky exhale and he looked at reel images Bucky smiling on projection the screen. "I don't know what Hydra did to you, Buck." He snarled his lips into a fierce scowl, clenching his knuckles into a hard fist. "I will find you and bring you back. I promise that my friend."

He walked slowly out of the darkened room, stuffed his hands into his jacket's pockets, turned as he forced his vow out in a faint whisper, unaware a pair of sharp, menacing silver-blue eyes watched his presence fade from the shadows of the room. "I'm with you until the end of the line, jerk."

* * *

The stern, assuring voice of Captain America-Steven Rogers wafted in his pulsing ears; the slant of light shone in the depth of his unsteady, restless gaze. He was standing in a corner, ashen and weather-beaten facial features shrouded in confusion. His slender, muscular frame garbed in a black leather jacket, frayed jeans and gloves.

His broken right arm positioned against his firm chest in a makeshift sling. His metal bionic forearm cradled protectively over his graven-bruised torso. His head narrowed, dark locks of drenched, matted chestnut draped over his neck and square jaw-line. He quickly removed a baseball cap from the interior of his coat-pulling it over his lengthy strands and moved closer to the projection screen.

He paused in his methodical strides, his pensive blue eyes still and haunted by the images of an unfamiliar ghost flickering on the screen; his unshaven jaw clenched as he became stoic in movement until the voices of two friends lulled him out of the drifts of tortured thought-he fought against the waves of Hydra's control-the endless pulsing of delirium coursing in his veins and watched the young man on the left of the screen smile brightly with Steve Rogers.

"I know his name," The Soldier muffled under his breath, his voice raw and strained. He looked directly at the image, his lips fastened into a firm line. "Steve Rogers." He let out a heaving breath, feeling the air drained him his lungs. His shadowy, guarded blue eyes narrowed at his trembling hands. "He was the man on the bridge... My mission..." His raspy words drifted as he felt a knot build in his chest-or the glass shards that were still lodged in his rib cage.

"Steve Roger was someone's best friend." He reminded himself, his voice barely a whisper as his shaky body mustered up the strength to advance closer-fear involuntary grew in him and his eyes search in the darkness for an escape from lashes of torture in his mind. He set his jaw hard and allowed his eyes to latch on old images of the Howling Commando's and Captain America framed against the walls around him-a name underneath a photo of the same young, handsome man in the film made his watery gaze flicker as he read out the words in a desperate whisper. "James Buchanan Barnes."

He lowered his head, trying to grasp the stolen memories; tears streak over his tensed and ruddy cheeks, his soulful eyes welled with torment as his soul shattered into thousands of jaded pieces.

"Is this my name?" he whispered in a low pitch, mouth quirking into a quivering frown. "Could I be James Buchanan Barnes?" He swallowed down the metallic taste searing against the rawness of his dry throat, his heart suddenly felt like a vice grip inside his chest.

The Soldier held his eyes on the picture for a momentary slice of time- biting his lip. He withdrew a back step, muscles coiled and skin burned as he fought against an inward battle of his existence -he lowered his tear filled eyes at his metal hand, curling the fingers into a fist. His eyebrows furrowed and timid features morphed into a fierce scowl-impulsively, he picked out a piece of scrap paper and began writing down a few words with a pen he stole from main entrance.

_I can't remember who you are, but I know your name... Steve Rogers._

He paused to wipe the blood running from the corner of his lip.

_I know you're looking for me... I'm sorry for everything and if I was your friend James Barnes, then leave it like that. Don't come looking for me-I don't want to be found._

He lifted his head to the screen, warm tears steadily flowing over his pale cheeks.

_I'm not the person who deserves Captain America to rescue him-forget about me. Allow me to become a ghost again._

He silently moved in front of the picture of Bucky Barnes and placed the paper in a space between the frame and glass-he stuffed his metal hand into the pocket of his jacket and slowly melted into the darkness. He parted his lips and released a faint, audible whimper in Russian, "I wish I could fight by your side... My friend."

* * *

Steve sat on the edge of the mattress, cringing at silence as darkness crept over his rigid cut-stone features. Nothing stirred. No phone calls from Natasha which always left a soothing ambiance in the air, at least it became the only modern sound he became immune to listening. He still felt unnatural; his existence had become diminished by the condemning guilt of failing to save his best friend, James Barnes from falling off Zola's train. The images still haunted him, twisting his soul into a spindling twine of scorched thread.

_"Bucky," Steve felt his lungs exploding against his rib cage; he gripped the metal side rails, feeling his knuckles tense under the leather gloves. His blue eyes latched on his best friend's face, meeting the crystal azure eyes which filled with fresh tears. He moved slowly against the rattling car and extended out his hand for Bucky to take, "Bucky, take my hand." He yelled in a firm voice against the biting cold lashing over his cheekbones. "Come on, Bucky, take me hand." He clamped his burning eyes shut and heaved out a forceful breath-his heart was racing wildly as he kept his steady gaze settled on Bucky._

_Bucky clung tightly on the metal rod jutting from the car, twisting it with his weight, he tried to reach for Steve's hand, and blood stained his frigid knuckles. He swallowed down a constricting knot of fear. Blood seeped down his chin, as he clenched his teeth and redirected the position of his hand toward Steve. His chest heaved with exhaustion. He sealed his lips into a firm grimace and reached up to grip his friend's waiting hand._

_The deafening sound of the metal loosening made his thudding heart drop and he took one last glance at Steve in that wrenching moment when the rod broke off and he felt himself falling into the icy abyss waiting to swallow his mortality up. He fell into the everlasting winter._

_"No...BUCKY!" Steve thundered, feeling his heart detonate and the world around him scatter into thousands of jaded pieces. He shuddered as he listened to the echoes of his friend drifting further away. He clasped his eyelids shut, and pressed his forehead against the cold steel as he wept silently, knowing that he failed to save the one person who always had been the one who believed in him and never turned his back when other people scuffed away his choices and ridiculous dreams -James Buchanan Barnes-his blood brother and shield from the streets of Brooklyn was now just a memory engraved on the surface of his wounded heart._

_"I'm sorry, Buck." He bawled, feeling his warm tears of anguish crystallize down his face. He felt defeated._

Now, Steve was reaching a standstill, feeling the conversant dull ache as it penetrated against his throbbing rib cage, sometimes he found it agonizing to breathe as his memories were awakened by the same modest and boyish face of his cherished, lifelong friend and one of his Howling Commandos who fought by his side and always had his back when they invaded Hydra's compounds. Those courageous moments, were shared in another lifetime without the division separating him from Bucky.

He blinked, too dazed to care about the world around, everything seemed to become shaded a leaden gray as he managed to glower out the bedroom's window, keeping his cobalt blue eyes focused on the lines of rain streaming down the glass panes, steady drops gathered and faded as he narrowed his head down and clutched the sheets with his tight fists. He blinked again, fighting to release the tears pricking in his eyes, unsure if he should just allow his fragile emotions to betray his stern, commanding and brave demeanor or to finally step out of the bedroom and jump back into his morning routine.

Suddenly, a soft knocking lulled his glistening blue eyes to drift toward the bedroom doorway, his broad muscles coiled with tension, he moved to the closet in haste, pulled on a pair of pants before making a mad dash out of the bedroom, he grabbed his shield leaning against the wall, preparing to ram it into the person who invaded his solitude, and slipped his wrist under the leather straps as he paced down the hall. The thralls of dread churned in his heated veins, heart pumped faster with each systematic stride, passing the black and white photographs of the Howling Commandos and old tarnished posters of Captain America which Agent Phil Coulson left for him from his collection.

He proceeded down the hallway and toward the apartment door, his blue eyes locked on the bronze knob as he surged out a ragged breath and unlocked the door, opening it with his shield leveled with his shoulder. He clamped his jaw and eased his knuckles as he stared at a pair of unyielding hands in front of him.

"Whoa, Cap." came the stunned voice of Sam Wilson as he withdrew an alarming step back from the door. "At ease, soldier."

Steve flicked his austere eyes, "Sam," he digressed in a strained and rough voice, lowering his shield to his side. "What are you doing here?" He spared a glance at his friend with quizzical expression shrouding over his smooth, carved features. Sam stood sternly inches from him in the bath of afternoon light, dressed in a leather jacket and frayed jeans which were torn from a previous workout, with sweat stains to match. His raven hair was drenched from the stale summer heat and chocolate colored eyes gleaming with trust and amiability.

"I came to check up on you," Sam replied, his voice strong and uncharacteristically comforting. "It's almost been two days, Cap." He raked his eyes over Steve's tall, strict posture.

The golden blonde haired super-solider looked better than he had the days before, but there was still distress welled in his steady gaze. His blue eyes narrowed down to the floor, and he released a silent breath, as he shifted his edgy frame against the door, his shoulders twitched and muscles tightening into knots for a still moment.

And there was something else, well, something elusive which he fought to keep veiled. The discovery of Bucky Barnes existence had left him dishearten...making him...silent. There was a faint glistening line of wetness streaking down his smooth face, Sam guessed it was from the muggy humid air, somehow he felt his veins ripple with dismay as he inched closer to his distraught friend.

Steve kept his lips sealed together in a firm line, he allowed his watery gaze to drift at the shafts of light streaming from the window. He barred his teeth and clenched his jaw tightly enough for Sam to stare at the indentation of his jawbone as a pained grimace etched over his face. "I'm fine," he growled, scowling his lips into a remorseful frown. "I'm just figuring out where to begin..." He paused, taking a step back and tried to cover his ashamed and solemn face, trying to hide the guilt and hatred from his new and trusting friend. He really didn't want Sam to him like this, so defeated and sickly looking from the haunting truth that stared him in the face around the wreckage of smashed vehicles-no, he always wanted to show strength and resilience, not the grimness of failure. It unnerved him.

"You haven't been answering your phone for two days...I was starting to get concerned." Sam's voice droned in his ears, his sharp eyes eclipsed with wariness masking over his rich brown orbs.

"You need to stop worrying about me..." Steve grumbled in response trying to assure him with ease. "I know how to handle things on my own."

Sam sighed out a shaky exhale, trying to hold a firm gaze as he met the indestructible blue eyes of Steve Rogers, his voice sounded a little raw. "This guy, whoever you claim him to be, has killed government officials and assassinated a lot of good people." He paused in his words, trying to gather more air into his lungs as he dropped his head down. "I know you think he's your best friend, maybe he once was but you need to understand that his just a weapon...A machine ordered to kill. You cannot just walk up to him on the street and pretend he's your friend. He will kill you, Cap, because that what's he's been conditioned to my friend."

Steve felt his grip on the shield's straps tighten. He stood motionless and stared at him; a dark, tumultuous look engulfed his gaze in the shafts of light.

"He tried to kill you." Sam reminded him.

Steve's face instantly darkened with a disgruntled look, he lowered a hard stare at the paper firmly gripped in his hand. "I know he's James Barnes," he replied with a hint of malice laced in his low tone. He felt a dismal breath ghost over his lips. "I know the risks of pulling this thread, Sam. Bucky, he is my friend and I will not lose him again not when there is a window of a chance to restore what Hydra has stolen from me." he gritted.

Sam shook his head minutely, "You can't blame yourself for what happened to him, Cap." He placed his hand firmly on Steve's tensed shoulder. "The paper I gave to you at the hospital has the location of one of Hydra's safe house located within the regions of the city." He gave Steve a concerned frown as he glanced down at his hand shaking over the wrinkled paper. "I can't guarantee that Bucky will be there...but it's worth a shot."

Steve nodded sharply; he parted his lips and drew out a cleansing exhale as he looked intensely at his gleaming shield. "And I'm taking it." he mustered up a fierce growl, his defiant blue eyes burned with wells of hope as he fastened his lips into a tight line and declared out his heart-wrenching vow with a single breath escaping from his fervid lungs. "I will find him and this time I will not let him go."

Sam returned the nod and half smiled, "You sound like a man on mission, Cap." he said, removing his hand gently off of Steve's shoulder. "When do we start?"

Steve felt the edges of his smooth, plush lips slack up into a faint smile as he looked intently down at the address, feeling a soothing ease brush over his heart. "Suit up, Falcon" he ordered, sucking in a breath and he met Sam's dark eyes." We've got a soldier to bring back home."

"How many safe houses are located in the city," Steve digressed with an edge rattling through his vocal cords. He folded his broad arms over his stiff chest. He wilted his rigid posture against the tailgate of a metallic blue Ram truck, his alloy shield fastened against his back as the buckled leather straps rested on the span of his brawny shoulders. Dressed in his dark blue embossed uniform with the silver star and red stripes. Steve pressed his full, smooth lips into a firm line and locked his severe cobalt eyes on a condemned apartment complex.

He sighed out a breath of heated vexation. He stared intently at rows of broken windows, spray-painted brownstone and heaps of trash gathered against a dented fence. "Every time we come close to find his location and just leads to another dead end. This isn't a location I would expect HYDRA operatives to stash themselves away from the naked eye." He breathed out his frustration again, glanced over his shoulder and became irritably annoyed by the sound of crinkling tissue paper. He trained his irked blue eyes and stared at a greasy full-loaded cheeseburger grasped in Sam's hand. "How can you eat that when we're out in the open dressed in our gear? Not to mention there's rats the size of alley cats glaring right at us?" he asked, shooting his new and trusted friend with an inscrutable look.

Sam shrugged, taking a massive bite as grease and mustard stained his chin. He swallowed and then spoke, "I can only go so long on an empty stomach." He took another, relishing the tasted of grizzled beef melting over his lips. He lowered the burger down and looked at Steve with worry masking over his deep brown eyes. "You sure you don't one?"

Steve minutely shook his head; he narrowed his glum blue eyes to his black leather boots, he suppressed the urge of hungry and curled his lips into tight a grimace. He felt the tension constricting in his stomach, bile threatening to crawl up the walls of his dry throat. He was stubborn and kept his lips stiff. "I'm not hungry. My stomach is churning in knots because I'm stressed. I need to focus on the mission. Nothing else."

"You look like you're going to fall over." Sam bit out, with an edge of concern in his voice. He reached for a cluster of salted fries and grabbed a handful. "You've been through a lot but don't make yourself sick over this, Steve." He offered his hand. "Just take a few fries and one bite of the burger. That's all I ask."

Smiling faintly, Steve locked a skeptical gaze on the fast food, he kept his body positioned with guarded stance and furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not sure if it's safe to eat something like that, it's not the same cheeseburger I remember having when I was a scrawny kid." he replied with an even tone, pursing his lips into a stiff line. "I hardly ate much because of my asthma problems... That damned illness prevented me from enjoying the good stuff that Brooklyn diners had to offer before the depression period."

Sam groaned and rolled his dark eyes, and blew out a short breath. "Stop talking and eat." he chastised. "We're not moving until you put at least one fry into your mouth, Captain Rogers."

"Alright," Steve deadpanned out a breath, he glanced at Sam's dark gray and black vest underneath the leather jacket and strapped over a plain muted gray shirt. He wore bicep guards and a pair of camouflage patterned pants with the U.S flag emblem and shin guards. A pair of black boots were done up tightly, and his flight backpack and goggles were on the back seat in the truck. Shaking his hand, he grabbed a fry and chewed off a bite sized piece. "Okay, I'll admit it does taste a little good." he said with a hard grimace twisting into a weak rueful grin.

He markedly surveyed the area and then snapped his sincere deep blue eyes back to Sam and drew out a weak sigh. "I'm trying to adapt to this modern world, Sam. It just doesn't feel like home anymore. Everything I remembered about this city is just a memory that keeps on fading away until it never existed in the first place." he grumbled with a nonchalant tone ragging up his raw throat.

Sam leaned further back against the tailgate, crumpling the yellow tissue paper into a ball and stuffing it back into the bag. "Let me guess, this assassin friend of yours, Bucky Barnes is the only person from the past you have left?"

"Bucky is more than a friend to me. He's like my protective big brother." Steve answered with a brush of cadence in his low voice. His cobalt irises hazed with despondence as he absently caressed his gloved fingers over the blue painted steel. He parted his lips, releasing a deep, dry breath. "He was the only one who believed in a skinny little punk when others didn't and he taught me how to never give up the fight even when the bullies had me on the ropes-"

* * *

Flashback

* * *

_"Hey," Bucky growled seizing the boy's wrist and force him into the wall, twisting his arm and making the bones crack and holding his face against moldy brownstone, pinning him down with his weight. He locked his fiery blue eyes on the pocket knife clutched in the thug's stubby hand; he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the stain of blood on serrated edge of the blade. He gnashed his teeth together and squeezed the wrist which made the knife drop to the ground. He parted his lips and drew out a deep breath as he looked down at Steve slowly rearing up to his feet._

_"It's always a game with you jerks." he hissed, contorting the arm against the brick and over the boy's shoulder. "You pick on the little guy, beat him and go home to mama without a scratch on your fat ass." He whispered into his ear, lifting the sharp weapon from the ground and holding it inches from his eyes. "I'm going to release and drop the knife and you are going to scam unless you want to see how I use a knife. Do I make myself clear, jerk?" Bucky growled at him with a menacing voice._

_"Why are you defending the runt?" the boy shot back in a grunt, looking down at Steve with a disgusted looked shadowing over his thick features. He managed to wiggle his arm out of Bucky's tight grasp. "He's nothing but a weak, little gutter stray."_

_Bucky took an involuntarily step back, being careful and slow as he demonstrated the control of the situation and when stared at the thug stepping from the wall, he dropped the knife on the ground._

_"Scram, kid." He spoke with an unyielding voice, he shook his head and turned his back and moved to Steve with a hardened gaze before he smirked, twisted his slender frame around and rammed a fist into the boy's jaw, making his opponent crash his body against a trash can. "That's for calling my pal, a gutter stray." he advanced closer and kicked his boot into the boy's backside. "That was for anything else-now pick up your ass and high tail it out of here."_

_The boy quickly regained his balance and staggered backwards as Bucky intimidatingly cracked his knuckles._

_"Do yourself a favor, kid. Never pick on a boy with health problems again. He might have someone stronger and better equipped than you watching his back..." he smirked cockily._

_The thug nodded frantically, swiping his sleeve over his bloodily nose, and then he sprinted out of the alley._

_Bucky lifted his jaw defiantly with a broad smile crossing over his lips; he turned and watched Steve limp his way over to the stairway. "Dammit Steve," he lightly shook his head. "I told you to keep your mouth shut. Do you ever listen?" he glared down at a frail and pale Steve Rogers sitting on the bottom step of the stairwell, blood dripped from his nostrils and the arch of his upper lip was split into a red gash. "What happened this time, punk?"_

_"That bully was trying to mess up a soldier's grave." Steve swiped the back of his bony hand under his nose, wiping away the stick blood from his skin. "I tried to stop him and I became the one they messed up, Buck."_

_Bucky blew out a frustrated breath; he crouched down on his knees. "Well, I've seen you look worse," he drawled with his rich Brooklyn accent, placing his hand on Steve's knee. "You need to stop pretending that you're a hero-I know that your heart was in its place when you stopped that jerk from ruining an old soldier's grave but whatever is buried underneath isn't there anymore. It's just a shell of a good man who wore a uniform to fight the big bullies." He removed his shirt off his sweaty, graven chest and used the material to dab the blood off of Steve's bruised cheekbone while he met the young blonde-haired boy's vivid blue eyes._

_"Do you know what he called me, Buck," Steve said with growl in his weak voice, his body began to shake with repressed anger. «A skinny little nobody." He lowered his head down, and screwed his eyes shut. "A sick little runt."_

_"Hey," Bucky whispered in a soothing voice, he placed his large hand firmly on Steve's thin shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze over the jutting bones. "When I look you, I don't see a skinny, sickly looking nobody." he remarked with his brightest voice, carefully dabbing the material of his shirt over Steve's bruised and gaunt jaw line. "In fact you are stronger than you know, so don't go beating yourself up because some jerk probably from Jersey made you think you're nothing."_

_Steve lifted his head and gave his friend a lopsided smirk. "I don't know where I'd be with you, Buck." His solemn gaze fell to his grime covered knuckles._

_"Probably dead and stuffed in alley with a damn trash can lid clutched in your hand." he curved his lips into a cocky grin; patting Steve's scuffed up knee. "It's a good thing you've got me to watch your back, little punk."_

_"I would've handled it."_

_"Maybe, if you were a few inches taller and packed with muscle," Bucky dropped his gaze slightly down, sighing out a disheartened breath, "You need to stop thinking you can fight." He clenched his jaw, stiffing the lingering baby fat over his sharp cheekbones. "They'll go easy on you because they know you're small, Steve." His full lips slacked into a glimmer of a grimace. "Next thing you pick a fight-you won't be so lucky."_

_Steve winced; though his upper lip was slightly split open he managed to say, "I know how to fight, Buck." He protested, hissing in pain, his thin arm cradled over his chest. «Do you think I'm stupid or something'?_

_Bucky shrugged with a casual grin playing on his lips. "Only when you think you can take on the whole world." He narrowed his eyes slightly down to his knees, feeling the guilt simmer in his veins. "I promised your ma I would take care of you-I'm not breaking a promise just because you think you're a damn punk who is fearless." He coyly cocked up one of his eyebrows._

_Steve ran his frail hand through his short golden hair, His face pale and full of discomfort. "I haven't decided if I should feel honored or guilty."_

_Bucky smiled, ruffling his friend's hair. "Knowing your righteous ass, probably guilty." he brisked at him with a low tone._

_He gave Bucky a lopsided, bashful smirk. "Thanks for your kind words, Buck."_

_"Hey, that's what friends of for, little punk." He lightly punched Steve's shoulder, hoping the skin wouldn't bruise his blue eyes bright with brotherly tenderness._

_Steve nodded with a cozy smile, "Friend till the end, big jerk?"_

_"No, Steve," Bucky replied in a soft brush of sure but truthful words, he placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, jerking him slightly. __"Brothers until the end..."_

* * *

Blinking the images out of his feverish blue eyes, Steve gritted his teeth as he felt the remorse simmer under his skin. "It's my fault you know. I caused Bucky to feel the pain. I think he's trying to remember." He took another fry out of Sam's hand. His stomach whirled with heavy flows of acid and his brow gleamed with humid and sickening sweat. "I made him become the Winter Soldier by allowing his body to fall into Zola's hands."

"You know, that's not true." Sam stepped closer. "After surviving the mission Project Insight, you know that is a damn lie and you're allowing yourself to take the blame for something that was out of your control. Bucky fell off the train not because you failed—no it was because he made his choice to not to take your hand, and because of that choice. He lives for HYDRA."

That was harsh. He didn't know how to react and the words escaping from Sam's lips were not break his spirit down, but to finally make him understand that everything he did to save Bucky Barnes wasn't a burden of failure to carry with him—it was the truth, painful and cold but necessary to hear. He took a long moment and recollected his emotions. "I know you're trying to make this situation lighter, but the more I dig deeper in the truth it becomes darker, to a point where it consumes my grief." He returned.

Sam sighed softly, "Do you ever think that this new mission you've placed on yourself is to restore your guilt?" Steve lifted his head, his eyes glistening with wetness. "They screwed him up bad. He is an asset. I have a feeling he doesn't want to be saved." He looked sadly at Steve, afraid and worried about his friend's life. "What if you fail to save him? You know he won't stop."

"I'm doing this for Bucky. Not because he's my friend but I made a promise. I will save him." Steve fired back. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He didn't want to feel the pressure growing in his chest, the shattering sense of disbelief that harbored him into another abyss of despair. "I need to help him regain the memories HYDRA stole from him. He's always been more than a friend to me, he's my brother. You think I'm just going let him disappear again without knowing that truth?"

Sam leaned his back against the right tail light, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. His face narrowed as he released a long exhale. "We've a got three more locations to recover. I'm not saying that we have a chance to find him-if we do its small." he quietly admitted. "Do you think he knows his name?"

Steve released a slow breath. Bucky reacted to his name when his metal fist was inches from smashing vicious into his bloodied and swollen face. Obviously the assassin responded to the familiar tone of his surrendering voice, but that frightened and disturbed look in his teary blue eyes that burned with controlled rage unveiled to him in that second off tasting a drop of warm blood run over his lips, the man beneath the layers of the tortured shell of the heartless and merciless killer was still present inside. If he hadn't said the name, in the final moment of their fight, then Bucky would have taken his life, completed his mission and eventually fall allowed his broken form to fall on his knees at the feet of HYDRA.

The damage of those illusions he forced back into the recess of his mind, left him torn...Steve felt like a captive as blood drained from his cheeks and images of a twisted and tortured Bucky Barnes strapped on Zola's table replayed. He didn't want to see his best friend fade, and there was a tiny possibility that he was going to restore Bucky from what Hydra and Zola had stolen within those years of being subjected to pain and ice. And he was going to make the ghost become flesh and blood again.

Sam read over the pain etched on Steve's smooth and chiseled face. He placed his hand on the super-soldier's shoulder and allowed the silence to rest behind them, "You know that we'll have to take him out. I have a high dose of sedative that will do the job quickly in case he gets hostile and case he tries to kill you."

Steve fell silent; a frown crept over his lips. "I refuse to see him as a threat." He narrowed his eyes to the ground. "I will take him out if that becomes the only option to get him to come with us."

"Okay." Sam agreed. He slammed the tailgate shut and moved to the driver's side door. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long and exhausting night."

"Yes. It's not going to be easy." Steve glanced at him, grabbing his helmet from the back and walked to the passenger side door and spoke with a broken voice, "But that's what happens when a friend is in trouble."

"Well, I hope you friend doesn't use us as midnight target practice." Sam replied dryly, before sliding down on the seat and started the engine.

Steve lifted his blue eyes to the ashen tarnished sky and whispered faintly, "He won't."

* * *

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," A shadowy and hoarse breath ghosted over his chapped lips, his gloved hands buried deep in the pockets of his tattered jeans. His gaunt, ashen face hidden by a brimmed dark baseball cap. The Winter Soldier walked stealthily towards a back alleyway stairway, leading him to a familiar safe house. He tucked the collar of his leather jacket against the exposed skin of his neck, lumbering up the steps with his heavy combat boots thumping over the creaking wood as he reached for the door handle of the balcony with his metal alloy hand.

Removing a lock pick from a pocket of his black jeans, he carefully unlocked the door and slipped inside the ambiance of the darkened apartment. Cautiously, he moved in stealth through the empty space in systematic strides, intensely scanning his feral, dispirited azure colored eyes over the heaps of tarps, spray painted symbols of Hydra marked in red on the grime covered walls. He knew it wasn't home.

Inhaling the stench of collected dust, he allowed his heavy boots to unconsciously carry his weight towards the kitchen area, crushing over shards of scattered glass on the floor, boards, he advanced in clandestine movements closer to a rounded shaped table, dragging out a chair and lowered his aching body down against the wooded furnishing. He removed the cap off his head, undoing the rubber band coiled over his matted strands of dark, sweat-drenched chestnut and allowed the straggly drapes to loosely fall over his broad, knife-edge cheekbones and his heavy, bristled covered jaw line.

He was caught in crossfire of orders and discipline. His gun rested on a scuffed up table in front of him. He weathered frame sat in the dark with patience, he was a wraith, soundless and controlled by the endless buzzing of pulses in his clouded mind-the colors of crimson-the screams of all the victims he destroyed because of order-and the invisible shock collar they placed on him every time he was granted freedom to complete his mission.

_Mission report, soldier._

The droning sounds of Alexander Pierce's strong and relentless voice echoed in his ears, he sat at the table, the blades of his shoulders dug into the wooded poles of the chair, he absently drummed his metal fingers on the edge of the table to interrupt the torrent clusters of thoughts ravaging through his mind all at once. He gripped the denim of his jeans, holding the firm material in a tight clutch.

He wanted to unleash screams of anguish as the thralls of savage impulses engulfing his will-power, the coldness of his superiors orders lulling him further into a darken abyss of chaos. Everything was scraping against his mind, grinding the thoughts of his existence into ash. He pressed his fist into the center of his chest, feeling the constriction of bones twist-every throb felt like a hammer pounding over his rib cage. He screwed his eyelids shut, the amber light became atrocious, he was starting to develop a headache, the pressure tantalized in his skull until he could hardly hear the sounds all him. He rocked his body against the chair, inhale the stale stench of summer heat as his brow gleamed with feverish sweat.

Instinctively, he peeled his eyes open, scanning the obstructive area of the small kitchen and he curved the edges of his vacant, pouty lips into a fierce grimace, listening to the agonizing sounds folding around him, there were hordes of people walking on the sidewalks, tires screeching at stoplights, people taking on mobile phones and listening to loud music with their headphones lodge in their ears. It became percussive torture, making him feel like his ears were bleeding. Everything combined into an orchestration of unpleasant, invasive noise, and the Winter Soldier found himself sitting displaced and rigid with tension, unwilling to move away -he became numb and conflicted with thoughts of his missions. The acceptable resilience of following every command, word and threat weaved together in the murky recesses of his mind. He tried to rake away the memories of his missions and targets but the hold on him invaded into a configuration of guilt.

He literally felt like he was wearing the inside out.

"The mission was a failure." he vocalized in robotic sync into the humid breeze, confusion warred over his thoughts as he fought to regain his strength, grabbing hold of the coffee cup. He felt the heat emit into his bones and released a shallow and unsteady breath. "The target, Captain America survived."

He snapped his murderous blue eyes down, creasing his brow and looked at the cracks engraved of the cement pad underneath his leather combat boots.

Fiercely, he clenched his chiseled jaw, gritting his teeth as his hand gripped the serrated metal plates of his bionic arm, he wanted to rip it out of the socket-expose the intricate circuitry of Doctor Armin Zola. He wanted to cut the wires, make the robotic limp become limp and immobile.

He craved to disarm himself, to have no more images of Hydra decoded in his skin. His fingers rubbed over the contortion of the plates as he heaved out an abysmal growl rumbling from the back of his raw throat and tried to pry his arm off, but he was rendered powerless and weakened by the truth that he would die from the amount of blood loss. Instead he tore his hand away and refocused his glowering eyes on the empty tables around him.

This array of confusion was unnatural to him, it wasn't a safe haven to seek refuge from the pain-it was mixture of darkness and light-human weakness and error interwoven by the threads of systematic failures, distrust and corrosive structures of order and disorder. He had trained his mind to block out all the frailty around him and allowed himself to become numb with coldness to the human touch. He was molded into a vacant, cold and soulless killer-excruciating innocent lives who were disagreeable and unmovable to Hydra's plan of reformation to create a new world order, even if they had to stain the solid ground of the blood of their victims.

He was forced against his own will-his own mortality to become one of the chosen ones who sacrificed his blood, freedom and heart for Hydra's will to dominate the world. His soul was butchered countless times until he became as cold as winter's ice and hollow as gunmetal steel.

Now, he had been liberated from the icy prison, given a chance of redemption and a new a mission to find the true man underneath the iron surface of the Winter Soldier. He broke his gaze away from darkness and red symbols and continued to stare icily at the weapon gleaming in the dim street light in front of him.

The Winter Soldier's forlorn gaze deteriorated downward, and sloppy dark tresses of hair fell over his brow, "James Buchanan Barnes," he muddled out with a shaky, baited breath. He creased his eyebrow, searching and grasping a memory from the caverns of torture in his mind. He parted his lips and allowed the words to roll off his tongue. His blue eyes widened and jaw dropped as he let out a straggling breath. "That is my name." he choked, slamming his metal fist into the wood of the table. "That's impossible. I-I can't be him." he roared, gritting his teeth and scarped upper row of teeth over his bottom lip. "The man fell off the train and died. He doesn't exist."

He lurched to his feet, knocked the chair over with the force of his bionic arm and crashed to his knees, slamming his fists into the floor. He broke apart his lips and unleashed a scream of anguish, feeling his soul rip into pieces. "James Barnes is dead!" he snarled out in cold fury.

* * *

Everything went numb in his body. Steve tried to ignore the smoldering remorse simmering in his veins, but it became consuming to ease away. He had been chasing ghosts, infiltrating safe houses located in dark places of the city, saving a little two-year old girl from an apartment fire and smashing through glass.

His stealth uniform reeked with the stench of ash and gasoline, the light padded material of his shoulders torn and his chin was a mess of scrapes that etched deep into the youthful skin and allowed thin lines of blood to seep out. He'd grown to become use to feeling pain from his fair share of injuries in the past, but tonight the pain wasn't physical, but emotional. He was prepared to throw his helmet down and walked away, he deserve to find Bucky, not after he failed in that split condemning second when he reached for the young sergeants hand. He'd spent two days after the siege of Zola's train in the snowy Alps, sitting in desolated room of an abdomen farm house, drowning his lungs with whiskey as tears of anguish flowed down his chiseled cheekbones and jaw, drinking his sorrow away. He never got drunk.

Hope seemed to be dwindling out of him, sighing out the humid air collected in his raw lungs, Steve advanced down a back alley. His leather boots sloshed in the clusters of puddles as he moved closer to the last location of HYDRA's safe houses. He felt pressure in his chest, a greasy contortion of malice and exhaustion gathered on the bones of his rib cage. It became harder for him to breathe, his vision swam as foggy images of dark figures invaded his mind and voice of Armin Zola tortured him with German taunts of with Bucky's name in the middle of the toxic laced webs of HYDRA's darkness. He fell deeper into the nightmares and delusions his wounded soul conceived.

* * *

_Inside Zola's inhumane laboratory in the green haze of light, he found a captured Bucky Barnes strapped down flat on an operating table, handsome face of youth was pale and gleaming with sickness. His eyes diluted with a fresh layer of tears masking over the clear warmth of his crystal blue embers of unbreakable fire. His full lips swollen with lash marks on the edges, smudges of blood encased over his sharp cheekbones and his 5'11 form shivered with coldness. He managed to look at Steve, trying to reach out for him with every ounce of his strength. "Steve," he slurred with a damaged voice, curling his lips into a bright smile. "I knew you would come..." He paused in a breath, blood leaked from his quivering mouth. "You need to save yourself. Get the hell out of here...I don't want to see you in pain."_

_"I'm not leaving without you, Buck." Steve replied in a breathless voice, he placed his gloved hand over the young soldier, sweat-drenched brown hair. "A captain never leaves a soldier behind, Sergeant James Barnes." he grounded out with a stern look in his vivid blue eyes._

_Bucky swallowed and shook his head and squirmed under the leather straps crossed over his chest. "You got to bail out of here," he coughed, fighting to break free from the restraints pinning him against metal. Tears stained the lines of grime over his face. "I know what want to do with you, Steve. You got to get out of here."_

_Steve refused to move from the table, he unhooked the straps and placed his hand firmly on Bucky's shoulder. "I will not leave you behind. You're my friend...My best friend, Bucky Barnes."_

_"And you're too dumb to listen," Bucky said softly, smiling faintly. He wrapped his arms around the broad span of Steve's shoulders and lifted himself up. "I'm glad you looked back when you did..." He sobbed lightly, trying to regain his defiance. "Enough with the waterworks, let's get the hell out of here before Zola and his loyal German dogs discover your ass."_

_Steve embraced his friend with a light squeeze of his arms, and helped him balance on the floor. "I hope this is the last time I ever have to save you."_

_Bucky blinked the tears out of his eyes and gave a lopsided grin. __"Yeah me too."_

* * *

Steve bashed those images, allowing the pained tears to leak out of his deep blue eyes; He regained his strength and strode further into the shadows allowing the splotches of the moonlight to light up the way towards the apartment. His heart pounded, a heavy pulse of hope surged in his veins, he knew that Bucky was there waiting in the darkness to be taken back home.

His blood was turning cold. The Winter Soldier paced his heavy tactical boots meticulously on the floor boards of the apartment, his metal hand clenched into a tight fist; he felt the anger erupting in his veins, a configuration of hate and confusion. His stomach rumbled with discontentment, vision blurred as smoldering tears gazed over his heavy lidded blue eyes; he fought to ignore the pain shuddering against his heart. He blinked trying to break himself away from a delusional state, he gathered the humid air in his lungs and holding his breath, he listened to the sounds of the heavy traffic and he gripped the denim of his jeans. The screeching of tires hitting the slick pavement made his ears numb, he quickly reacted and encased the palms of his gloved hands over the shell of his ears, blocking out the encroaching sounds. It was becoming condemning, he was starting to suffocate, blood pounded rapidly in the depth of his ears and tears streaked over the grime and dry blood cowling over his ashen skin. He felt like he was breaking into pieces, mind turning to slush and voice becoming locked away in his chest.

The smell of sickening sweat permeated the air. Tears splashed over the cracks of scuffed up hardwood, sweat meandered down his temples. He dragged his boots across the kitchen, glancing sharply at the faint red glow. The rumbling of his stomach branded him with hunger. It had been almost two days since he'd eaten anything that Alexander Pierce allowed HYDRA troops to give to him before the mission. He couldn't remember what they fed them, but it tasted bland and it was not filling enough to call a meal. "I need food," he said to the darkness and noisy blur, his hand clasped over the handle of the running fridge. He struggled not to snarl, paused in his thoughts and allowed instincts to drive him to open the door.

The Winter Soldier scanned his severe blue eyes over the metal shelves cover with spoiled cartons of milk, containers of fruit and a chocolate bar. Wincing, and gritting his teeth, he reached for the packaged bar and ripped the wrapper cleaned off, tossing it to the food. His sugar levels were decreasing and the amount of blood loss he endured during his trek to the safe house was making him feel lightheaded. Biting into the hard chocolate, he relished the combination of flavor exploring over his tongue, chewing the caramel and peanuts carefully and savoring every piece that landed on his tongue as the empty void in his stomach was filled enough to survive another night. He had to keep alert.

The hunger pains grew worst.

He clutched his metal arm over his stomach, and doubled over, crashing to his hands and knees. He managed to crawl to the cabinets, and slammed and pressed the muscular planes of his back against the wood. He rocked slowly, and lowered his head to his knees; matted and drenched strands of chestnut fell into his eyes, concealing the dim light out of his azure irises. He scrunched his abdomen muscles into a tight constriction, feeling his wounds fester with heat under the layers of his clothes. Little noises of distress fell from his lips with each shortened breath, buffeting the denim. He swayed against the weight of pressure erupting in his stomach, locked his joints and bore his fierce blue embers at the bright crimson Russian star etched over polished metal alloy, the mark of the inhumane legion he was forced into after he was pulled out of the ice. He never wanted to kill innocent lives, tear governments apart through HYDRA's methods of order and chaos. They turned him rabid, butchered his soul until he felt only coldness enter his heart.

_Your work has been a blessing to mankind._

A bitter smile crept over his lips as the droning voice of Alexander Pierce echoed in his mind. He lifted his metal hand close to his face and stared intently at the linger stains of maroon dried in between the creases of the plates. It wasn't his blood but from the man he saved from drowning in the Potomac River, the visage of Captain Steve Rogers emerged from the darkness of his tortured mind. The man he fought inside the SHIELD helicarrier was almost like a ghost of his past, a face of someone to protect and trust. He knew that man in the spangled stars and stripes uniform was a symbol of valor, truth, resilience, trust and power.

"Steve Rogers," the Winter Soldier's lips parted as he spoke in a hoarse and low whisper. He furrowed his brows and with a dismal tone repeated the words of the narrator "Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes..." He narrowed his eyes down, keeping his lips formed into a neutral and vacant frown. "They were friends." He swallowed a metallic taste down his raw throat. He felt tears starting to prick in his eyes and he buried his face into the crook of his arm, shaking his head and shedding out drops of anguish. "They were best friends." he cried softly and yet his remained blank and distant.

He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift, vivid images of another life became as clear as day to him...

* * *

_-"Buck, don't you think you should take an easy on the drinking?" Steve advised, pushing a bar stool out and settling down his bony rear next to his best friend. He placed his small hand on Bucky's broad shoulder, patting in lightly. "You know that I'll have to help walk out when this is for?" he grounded with a pointedly look watching his friend tilt his head back and drain another glass of beer. "Come on, Buck. I think you had a few too many."_

_"And I'm feeling no pain, Rogers." Bucky returned with a hearty laugh, a cheeky smile spread across his youthful face and his blue eyes woozy after four pints he had consumed within the hour. His famous trademark smile assured Steve that he was still alert. He swayed slightly and laughed again, before placing his arm over Steve's back. "Come on, little punk." he slurred, his tongue licked over his upper lip. "Have a drink on me?"_

_"Bucky," Steve said, smiling to himself. He narrowed his cobalt blue eyes on his sketchbook. "You know that I can't drink."_

_"Right," Bucky nodded, rubbing his lips together. "I forgot." He gave a sad smile, patting Steve's back. "Sorry, about that, pal."_

_Steve shrugged; his blue eyes welled with defiance. "One day, Buck. I'm going to prove that I can be strong." he said bitterly._

_"For heaven's sake, you've got nothing to prove, Steve. You should know that." Bucky declared adamantly, poking a finger into Steve's chest. "Hell, I know that." He gave a gruff chortling laugh, feeling the effects of the alcohol increasing. He looked down at the sketchbook and brightly smiled. "Hey, how about I draw you something." he whispered._

_Steve raised an eyebrow. "How long has it been since you've drawn something, Buck?" He questioned, catching a twinkle in his friend's blue eye._

_'"Just find me a fresh page," Bucky grunted back, his voice cracking. Steve shook his head and handed Bucky the book and a pencil. "Keep in mind, I'm a little rusty."_

_"A little," Steve snorted with a light giggle, watching Bucky straighten on the stool and focus his eyes on the blank page._

_Bucky twiddled with the pencil between finger and thumb, twirling it and scanning his hazy eyes over slightly over Steve on the stool poised and rigid, his short golden hair brushed off his forehead and piercing blue eyes collecting the warmth of the candle light between them. Always unfazed and so resilience, despite looking pale as a ghostly skeleton in baggy clothes. He saw pass all the illness, frail bone structure the ashen skin tone and bruises-he saw the brave heart of a young man who wanted to save the world from the bullies. But most importantly he saw his best friend, the orphan he saved in the schoolyard and cared for little a little, stubborn brother, beneath his "tough as steel" exterior he'd dreaded that the day would come when he won't make it in time to save him._

_"Well you're a sight for sorry eyes," he teased with a wolfish grin paying cross his lips. "Stop being a tight ass and smile, Rogers." he grumbled._

_"Wait, you're drawing me?" Steve asked with a hesitant tone in his voice._

_"Yes I am," Bucky answered, avoiding Steve's hard gaze, and dragged the point of the pencil on the page, biting on his bottom lip, his stomach churning._

_Steve sighed under his breath, "Bucky, don't waste that paper with me. Draw a beautiful dame or something." he implored, the candlelight caught vivid cobalt irises as he tore his gaze away, shifting his frail body into an uncomfortable position._

_Bucky laughed and removed his eyes off the page and gave him a lopsided grin. "Would you like me to put you in a dress?"_

_"You're a big, drunken jerk, you know that right?" Steve shot back, laugh off sentiment._

_"And you're an annoying little, skinny punk." Bucky answered with a broad smirk as he light nicked Steve's shoulder. "But also you're one hell of a good friend."_

_Steve shook his head, and faintly smiled. " The same goes for you, Barnes."_

_Bucky dropped the pencil on the bar, and lifted up the drawing of a stick person holding a large circle. "Like it?" he asked, trying so hard not to keep a straight face._

_"Bucky," Steve shot him a piercing look of blue, stiffening his lips as he gazed at the drawing. He lightly shrugged. "Well, at least your artistic skills are improving."_

_Smiling dolefully, Bucky wrapped broad his arm around Steve, pulling him close and whispered. "You're more to me than that, pal. Always will be..."_

* * *

The muted light pressed against the grime covered windows of the apartment, so dense it felt solid. Steve climbed up the fire escape; gloved hands gripped the rail, as the sky became darkened with threatening storm clouds. The vague stench of summer rain encompassed over the dark wedges of the alley, he shifted his deep blue eyes slowly, allowing determination to recede. He registered the sudden rush of adrenaline; and overwhelming tension battering against his mental shields.

Frustrated, Steve drew out a low growl, trying to unlock the anger simmering in his veins, trying to figure out how to allow vengeance to avail out of him. As if pushed out of the murky deepness, his mind was flooded with emotions-resilience, fatigue, sorrow, guilt, rage;-he was allowing himself to be dragged out a void of turmoil inside of him. He stumbled on the wooded boards of the balcony, and unfastened his alloy shield off the leather straps clung to his shoulders; he slipped his wrist through the bracer and took a moment to recollect on his strategy of infiltrating unfamiliar territory.

"Focus Rogers," he chided himself, and kept his blue eyes locked on the door. "What's in there is your best friend Bucky Barnes. Not a HYDRA operative."

He released a ragged sigh, trying to physically block his mental bombardment. Steve squinted into the darkness, listening to the sound of his boots thudding against the wood. He stood in the shadows with a pliant stature; his commanding, smooth features disarmed and hesitate. He extended a hand to the handle, feeling a rush of wariness lash over his chest, uncertainly had branded him to become frozen in the moment of choice. He hadn't felt this worn, drained and emotionally beaten, wrathful and physically shaken in years.

Despite all the rescue missions he did with SHIELD and saving humanity from the alien invasion two years back, those events and battles never left his body so battered and his strong heart so weak. Steve knew that it wasn't just the physical pain of surviving from the fall of the helicarrier, being saved by the man who was ordered to him kill, and spending two weeks in the hospital after losing pints of blood, tissue and having a few bullets removed from his mid-section. This pain of fighting his best friend and listening to the vicious snarls of a brutalized and savage monster escape from Bucky's throat not only encased his body but also his soul-it left him feeling raw, broken and numb. His heart had shattered in thousands of pieces and his defiance, noble spirit diminished into one of a lost man.

Now, Steve found himself standing in the crossroads became good and evil. Deep inside the churning waves, he thought he could adapt to the new world around, trust and protect innocent lives and knock down evil men, after all the events he experienced, he felt distrust in everyone he'd known and worked with under the commands of Nick Fury. Natasha was out of the picture, rectifying her past sins and wiping her red ledger clean by erasing the mistakes that haunted her in dreams. He knew that SHIELD couldn't be trusted, too much gray cloaking over their ideals, protocols and deception. The concept of truth and everything he once believed when he served his country in the uniform along his Howling Commandos was butchered into partial lies to control, manipulate and reform the world by creating a falsehood of hope. He willed himself to turn a blind eye, trusting Fury and the people of SHIELD were building a strong foundation to ensure the safety of better and peaceful world, and that was the cause he vowed to fight for-not just as Captain America but has the skinny punk from Brooklyn who wanted to fight the bullies from picking on the little guys.

Inside the layers of the strong American symbol of enhance strength and iron-like muscle, the heart of the little guy still pounded strongly. Steve still grieved for those he lost along the way-all his Howling Commandos were gone, Peggy Carter was slipping away and even his own sanity was beginning to betray him.

Releasing a digressed breath, Steve focused on his mission. He glanced over his shoulder and scanned the darkened area with his sharp blue eyes, pressed his COM and whispered, turned slow, and reluctant to take his eyes off the door. «Sam, I'm going in. If you don't hear from me in ten minutes. Come in after me."

"Be careful, Cap." Sam's concern voice advised. "Remember this guy may be your friend, but he is also a dangerous."

Steve trained his eyes on the door handle, "I know, Sam." he replied, releasing a heavy breath. His gaze centered on the dark shapes inside the desolated apartment. He hesitated, feeling his heart throb in his chest and blood turn a few degrees colder in his veins. "I'm prepared to take him out." he grounded out, slipping through the narrow crack between the door and the metal frame.

He advanced with hushed steps of systematic footing to obstructed area of broken scraps of furniture, holding his shield above his chest. He kept his eyes trained and steady, muscles coiled under his uniform and throat clenched, and he moved swiftly against the specs of light, avoiding shards of broken glass scattered over the hardwood.

"Come on, Buck." He spoke in quiet whisper, beads of sweat rolled over his lips and he tasted the salt land on his tongue. There a dense smell of rotten food wavering the air, gasoline, spoiled milk and dust. Steve felt his nose crinkle as the stench of decay and body odor lashed over his face. He narrowed his eyes to the floor, and found piles of clothing with the red symbols of HYDRA stitched on the sleeves. Clenching his gloved hand into a fist, he kicked at the garments with baleful eyes-the rage he kept under control was threatening to become unleashed.

Registering his calm demeanor, Steve tore his eyes away, and he stood dead center of the room. "Bucky, I know you're in here." he growled, remorse laden in his firm voice. "I'm not going to fight you, Buck. I'm unarmed." He dropped his shield, and listened to the alloy clang against the floor. He bent his knees slightly, and stared at the drops of blood. "I know you're wounded and you need medical treatment. Please Buck. Let me help you."

"Why have you come here?" a ghostly and yet weakened voice erupted from the shadows. Steve twisted around, and squinted his blue eyes against the darkness shrouding over his chiseled and sweat-slacken face. He caught a glimpse of metal gleaming in the pale light of the kitchen. "You've made a mistake to come here and now you will pay for it."

Steve shook his head, his eyes started to burn. "I came here to save you, Buck." he breathed out. "I'm not going to fight you."

"Leave me the hell alone and stop calling me, Bucky. I'm not him!" the Winter Soldier whispered out a pained exhale.

"No. I'm not leaving you to suffer alone again." Steve digressed back; his words jabbed against the wall of his chest. He stepped closer to the kitchen. "You're my best friend...You're all I have left from Brooklyn."

The Winter Soldier emerged from the thick shadows. His long dark hair hung in front his luminous pale azure eyes like curtains, draping over his unshaven, broad jaw line. His face had contorted into a dangerous scowl, lips fastened into a line of harden anguish and youthful, hawkish features tight with aggression. He kept himself distance from Steve, leaning his back against the wall, holding his injured arm, and shaking his head with confusion gleaming in his blue eyes. "Please just leave me alone-" he barked, grimacing, his eyes welled with smoldering tears. "Don't make me fight you again." he pleaded out a cry of mercy, Steve watched him slowly tear apart with untamed emotions. 'I don't want to kill you." he exhaled with heavy pants, almost like he was beginning to suffocate. "I can't control myself." he gnashed his teeth, head swayed and hand instinctively reached of his 9 mm attached to a pouch strapped over his waist. "I can't stop it...GET OUT OF HERE!" he roared, his eyes became vicious and filled with carnal darkness.

"No!" Steve yelled back, his eyes filled with scolding tears. He crashed to his knees in front of the Winter Solider, and looked up at him with glistening, defeated eyes. "I'm staying with you, pal. Until the end of the line, remember..."

"Those words mean nothing to me." He snarled, curling his lips up and wrapping his metal finger over the guns trigger. "You mean nothing to me!" He screamed, releasing all of his anguish, confusion and pain. He marched closer and pointed the muzzle at Steve's temple. "You're my mission...Not a friend or a face of stolen memory...Just a target." he lashed out; the blue of his irises became livid and cold. He twisted the gun, digging the metal into the hard surface of Steve's helmet. His face became empty, hollow from humanity and eyes soulless-he suddenly looked dead to Steve, a husk of pure hate and butchered memories.

"No," Steve cried, shaking his head with refusal. "I will never accept those words from you. I will not let you go, Bucky Barnes."

"Stop it!" the HYDRA assassin hissed, withdrawing an involuntarily step back. "Stop calling me by that name."

"You're James Buchanan Barnes" Steve said, praying that he would reach him. "You're my best friend, and one of good men I've ever known."

The Winter Soldier trembled, his eyes lips formed into a watery frown. He lifted his head and aimed it at the center of Steve's helmet-the white capital letter A.

"Remember who you are, Bucky. You're not the bad guy...You've never been the bad guy." he squalled with a sudden flow of tears, and looked into the olden blue eyes of his best friend.

The Winter Soldier felt fingers loosen on the gun. Those daunting blue eyes narrowed down slightly, he stared at Steve, eyes blinking and lips quivering. He gathered crescents of light strike the darkness of the merciless gaze, changing it into something familiar, something that was locked away underneath the layers of frozen exterior of a trained killer. "I'm not Bucky." he snarled, chest heaving with expatriated breath. "You don't know me."

"Shoot me." Steve ordered, removing his helmet, allowing the assassin to see the true man underneath Captain America. His short golden hair spiked and rustled with exhaustion, his smooth cut-stone features ashen and blue eyes heavy with tears. "Shoot me. Complete your mission. Kill me if you don't remember me." he bowed his head down, starting at spatters of tears land over the cracks of the floor. "No matter what you do, whether you pull the trigger or not...You'll will always be my friend."

Growling, the Winter Soldier charged closer, his finger curled on the trigger, his blue eyes murderous and face raw with anger. He lifted his gun, using both hands and stared down at Steve. J_ust do it. _He heard the other man say with a calm and heart-wrenching voice. He choked out a sob, squeezing his eyelids shut and lost balance on his haunches. Images of memory recollected out of the static of his mind-vivid images of a frail blonde boy standing in the alley with a bloody nose and deep blue eyes. He fought against the control and his existence, hand shaking the gun and tears blurring his vision. His shoulders shook and lips became encased with tears. "I -I won't-" he growled in a rough voice, moving a step backwards. His glistening eyes widened and face expressed a tortured look. "I won't kill you."

Steve lifted his head, and watched him fiercely whip the gun to the across the room. He parted his lips and released a long sigh of relief. The Winter Soldier crashed to his knees and slammed his fists into the hardwood, weeping and snarling like a wounded animal. "It's going to be alright, Buck." Steve spoke calm and soft. He moved closer and caressed his hand over his distressed and confused friend's shoulder. "I'll get you through this, pal." he promised, allowing his own teary eyes to drift of the metal of the gun gleaming in the muted light.

Feeling unhinged, the Winter Soldier protruded his lower lip into a sulky pout, strands of dark hair flowed over his bleached cheeks and sky-blue hue of his drooped eyes became a nebulous tint of straying emotions.

"You seem so familiar..." he said in a hushed tone. "Almost like I've known you all my life." He shook his head, biting on his lower lip. "But I don't know you..." his voice drifted further away. He focused his haze eyes sharply and suddenly on Steve, and he was glaring at him with embers of blue flames-aversion swelled deep inside of him. He broke his lips apart and let out a painful, abysmal, shattering scream of a broken man. "I DON'T KNOW YOU!"

"That's HYDRA's control making you believe that, Buck." Steve raised his voice over the demoralized cries of the broken man in front of him. "It's not you-"

His words halted in his throat, the Winter Soldier shot up quickly and, violently lunged on him. Steve yelped in when his muscles jostled and his back slammed into the floor. He was roughly pinned down. His body immobile against the crushing weight against his stomach. Pain exploded in his chest, air drained out of his lungs and eyes blurred with wetness. He didn't fight back-he lay there under the assassin and looked up into the ghostly blue eyes. "Remember who you are...Remember the man you used to be, Bucky."

The mental hand reached down for Steve's neck, fingers coiled tight around his throat. Choking, Steve raised his hand and rested over the other man's shoulder. He squeezed the muscle hard, pinching the skin underneath the material of the sweater; he was desperately trying to free himself-the air in his lungs felt like lead bullets against his throat. "Remember you're James Barnes...You're not a killer." he gasped, listening to the plating of the metal arm twist and contort against his neck. The Winter Soldier's eyes were livid and welled with carnage, and he slammed Steve's head against the floor.

Agony pounded in his skull, Steve felt faint, and his arm dropped hard to his side. It seemed like all his strength was poured out of his body; he lay there dazed, frozen and breathless. He snapped his eyes shut momentary, pain curled over his bones and heart raced. He saw pulses of red with each thundering pound against his rib cage. "You made a promise to me, Buck. You'd said you would always protect me-which you would never allow anything to happen to me." he cried, coughing and wheezing for breath. "Look what you're doing...You're hurting me!"

"No," the Winter Soldier gasped harshly, blanching away, his blue eyes wide and glazed with wetness. Before he could remove his hand away from Steve's throat, the sound of glass breaking echoed throughout the room, and a dart laced with the potent sleeping agent penetrated the skin of his neck. He clawed away at it like a distressed animal-his eyes darkened and tensed features relax. "I'm sorry...Steve..." He slurred and doubled over, landing on his back, and his eyes closed.

Steve rubbed a hand over his bruised neck, turned his head and looked out the window. He pressed the COM. "I almost had him, Sam." he growled, looking down at an unconscious Bucky Barnes, watching a few tears roll down the man's jaw. "Drive the truck into the alley-I'm bringing him out."

"Affirmative, Cap." Sam replied with a low whisper. "The sedative will have him knocked out cold for at least-twenty hours. Give or take."

"I'm bringing him back to my apartment. Get a hold of Maria Hill and tell her I need medical assistance. I've got a wounded soldier with me." Steve countered back, cradling his arm over his stomach, he staggered on his knees to Bucky, looking down at the tortured face of his friend, he slammed a fist into the floor, gritted his teeth, "I'll get you back to your old self, Buck." he whispered, rolling Bucky onto his stomach.

Steve hooked his elbows underneath Bucky's arms, raised him to his feet, placed his right leg between the unconscious man's legs, grabbed the metal hand with his left, and squatted down while keeping his back straight as possible. He wrapped his right arm against the denim, rose up, and lifted Bucky's right thigh over his right shoulder. Strands of long hair fell over his arm as Steve secured Bucky's weight over the span of his broad shoulders, he moved to his shield flipped it up with and boot and grasped it with a steady hand, and then he carried Bucky out through the doorway of the balcony.

"You carried me all those years, it's time that I carry you, Buck." he declared in a quiet voice, and felt the weight of his best friend on his broad shoulders. "I will never let you fall."

* * *

AN: The first part of the story contains are the pieces of stories I scraped because I really didn't like the plots I created. The second part will be Bucky recovering with lots of bromance moments, healing and restored friendship. No slash, but some violence. Thank you so much and enjoy. If any of you have any ideas just let me know through comments. Thank you.


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